The Butterfly
Favel Friedman,
4.6.1942


 

The last, the very last,
So richly, brightly, dazzlingly yellow.
Perhaps if the sun's tears
would sing against a white stone.

 
Such, such a yellow
Is carried lightly 'way up high.
It went away I'm sure because it
wished to kiss the world goodbye.
 

For seven weeks I've lived in here,
Penned up inside this ghetto
But I have found my people here.
The dandelions call to me
And the white chestnut candles in the court.
Only I never saw another butterfly.

 
That butterfly was the last one
Butterflies don't live in here,
In the ghetto.

Motelle

From tomorrow I shall be sad,
From tornorow on!
Today I will be gay
What is the use of sadness .. . tell me that?
Because these evil winds begin to blow?
Why should I grieve for tomorrow ......... today?
Tomorrow may be so good, so sunny,
Tomorrow the sun may shine for us again,
We shall no longer be sad.
From tomorrow on, I shall be sad -
From tomorrow on!
Not today, no!  Today I will be glad
And every day, no matter how bitter it be.
I will say
From tomorrow on, I shall be sad,
Not today!